Annie
by Magnus McKay
Summary: Who was Annie Christmas and why does Sherlock have her diary? John's shocked to find out that at one time, Sherlock had one other friend in all the word, this mysterious woman who he's never heard him talk about.
1. Chapter 1

John pulled the book he wanted off the shelf, swearing under his breath as about a dozen more followed it and landed at his feet. Sherlock didn't look up from his microscope, or in any way to get up to help John replace the books. He just glanced at John, his brilliant blue eyes illuminated by the light from the lenses of the microscope. John picked up a small book that had fallen out with the larger ones, and flicked through it with a little frown.

It was a diary, written in neat loopy handwriting that John didn't recognise as Sherlock's. Or indeed anyone else's handwriting that he knew. He picked out a few names he did recognise, Lestrade for one. But the most prevalent name was Sherlock which appeared over and over with an exotic looking 'S'. John flicked to the first page and read the name of its owner.

"Who's Annie Christmas?" he asked Sherlock, pottering into the kitchen.

Sherlock looked up sharply, looking at the small notebook in his friends hands. He looked distant, his jaw tightening.

"Sherlock?" John frowns at Sherlock's silence.

"She… we lived together for a while. When I was younger." Sherlock said quietly.

"You lived with a woman?"

"Don't sound so surprised."

"I just… how come I've never met her?"

"She's dead."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"What for? You didn't kill her." Sherlock replied, taking the book from John and snapping it closed.

John sensed a little apprehension from his friend, and followed Sherlock into the lounge. Sherlock put the book on his desk, and went to stand by the window, looking out onto Baker Street sightlessly as if deep in thought.

"What happened to her?" John pressed.

Sherlock turned his head a little, taking in a sharp intake of breath. He blinked slowly, choosing to tell the truth.

"She died." he replied bluntly.

"I get that. What happened?"

"It matters very little."

"You wouldn't have kept the book if it didn't mean anything."

"It's her diary. It has some good observations in it, so I kept it. That's all you need to know." Sherlock replied, beginning to get teasy with John's persistence.

John sat down and looked at Sherlock expectantly. Sherlock rolled his eyes at John. He sighed and began to tell Annie's story.

* * *

Annie Christmas could hear the strains of his violin before she walked up the stairs to the living room. It was a nice tune, pleasant. But not when you've got a headache that threatens to make your head explode. Which she did. Annie opened the door with a gentle push, and smiled to herself.

Sherlock Holmes was stood against the backlit curtained window in profile, his eyes closed, lost in the moment. A lit cigarette hung from his lips, the smoke curling around him in the dimly lit room, it hung in the air creating a faint miasma around the lampshade hanging from the ceiling.

Annie leant on the door frame, closed her own eyes and just listened, her head pressed against the frame of the door. She found her headache melting away, and the tiredness that had threatened to make her fall asleep at the kitchen table disappeared completely.

"Sherlock, that's beautiful." Annie sighed.

Sherlock didn't turn round. He just arched one of his eyebrows, and looked at her out of the corner of his eye. He smiled at her ever so slightly, and finished his mournful little tune. He stood for a moment with the bow by his side, and the violin still tucked under his chin.

"It's three am." Annie sighed, drawing her threadbare cardigan around her chest.

It was cold in the room, but Sherlock didn't seem to notice as he lit another cigarette.

"Did I disturb you, Annie?" he asked putting the violin in its case, and closing it with a snap.

He wasn't disturbing her at all. She'd got used to his company, and the fact he barely seemed to sleep.

"You've got to go and talk to Lestrade tomorrow and I said I'd drop you off at Scotland Yard, remember?" she asked sitting on the sofa.

Sherlock turned to look at Annie, and nodded. Sometimes she felt a little like his mother, but he seemed to have got used to her speaking like that to him. She couldn't help it, sometimes he just reminded her of a little boy who just needed to be looked after.

"Yes, I remember Annie, dear." he sighed, sitting beside her.

It had been a busy week for them, plenty of cases but none of them had been particularly interesting in Sherlock's eyes. But this latest one had really piqued his interest.

"So there's a second body. Before you ask, I heard you talk to Lestrade on the phone earlier. Did it match up with the first?" Annie asked, laying her head on the back of the sofa, and looking over at him.

Sherlock sat back in thought for a second, then mirrored her, the curls of his hair falling into his eyes slightly.

"Yes. He is quite the advisory." he replied.

"He? You worked out it was a 'he'?" Annie asked, lifting her head a little.

"The way the bodies have been laid out, the notes, the fact that both the victims are women. It points to a man."

"The bodies disposal and the fact they're women… I get that it can point to a male killer, even I got that. But how do you get that from the notes?"

"The handwriting. They are strong, bold, especially the vowels. A male hand has written them."

"You're amazing, you know that don't you?"

"You do frequently remind me." Sherlock smiled.

They fell silent, looking up at the ceiling.

Annie must have fallen asleep, because when she opened her eyes again Sherlock had gone, and the curtains had been opened to reveal watery spring sunlight. She was stiff from sleeping on the sofa, but the smell of coffee was enticing her downstairs.

Annie opened the door to the kitchen and Sherlock was reading the morning paper. He looked grim.

"What's happened?" she asked, thrown by his scowling at the paper.

"We've run out of tea." Sherlock muttered.

"Then have coffee." Annie replied, picking up the coffee he'd made for her.

He looked over the top of the paper and grimaced. She poured another mug of coffee, shovelled two sugars into it and dropped it in front of him. She gave him a look.

"Well, it's not there for the good of your health." she said sitting down and lighting a cigarette.

Annie looked at him again. Sherlock sighed and took the mug in his hands. He glanced into the mug with a look of distrust.

"This will be the fourth time you've tried to get me to drink coffee." he said frowning.

"Yes, and this time, I put sugar in it." Annie replied with a smile.

The previous three times she'd tried to get him to drink it she'd just put milk in it and it ended up in the sink. This time however, he raised his eyebrows in pleasant surprise.

Sherlock watched Annie drive with a hint of interest. She wouldn't trust him in a car on his own, so she opted to be his personal driver rather than have him causing trouble in the middle of London. And this car was new. Sherlock listened to the news on the radio like he always did, and Annie swore at cyclists like she normally did.

Annie opted to stay outside while Sherlock talked to Lestrade about what he'd found out. She would only have had to walk all the way back down stairs for a cigarette anyway. It was a bad idea. Before she could scream, Annie was bundled into the back of a taxi, a strong smell of chloroform hitting her nostrils.

Annie came round in a grim little room. The wallpaper was peeling, and the bulb in the fitting was flickering. She was in a chair, and unusually she was not tied up. Not what she was expecting in a kidnap. She felt woozy, but she knew that she was in terrible trouble.

Annie looked up and frowned at the laptop in front of her. There was a webcam, and looking at her was Sherlock, his jaw tight. Annie tried to look round, but stopped when the cold metal of the barrel of a gun brushed her cheek. A hand began to snake over her shoulder, loosening the top button of her shirt. Annie didn't move, didn't even flinch as her captor undid the second button.

"Shall I leave her like the rest, Sherlock? Shall I take her dignity from her like the others?" the captor breathed.

Sherlock looked pale, but Annie wasn't sure if that was the screen or not. The captor pushed the gun into her cheek and she moved with it. He slid the barrel down her neck and pressed it into her jugular.

"What do you want? I'll give you anything. What do you want? Money? Passage out of this country?" Sherlock asked desperately.

"I want you… to be destroyed, Sherlock Holmes." Annie's captor replied.

A rough hand grabbed Annie by the throat and dragged her backwards off the chair.

"Talk to him, talk to your dear Sherlock." he hissed into Annie's ear.

She looked into the webcam, holding back the tears that threatened to burst forth.

"When he kills me, find him Sherlock. You find him." she said calmly.

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, then nodded once in understanding. The gun moved again until it was at her stomach. Then he fired. Annie fell to my knees in shock, pressing her hands over the gunshot wound, shocked look on her face.

"You get here quick enough, you save her life. Run, Sherlock Holmes." Annie's captor cackled.

Sherlock's face disappeared from the screen and Annie's captor swept out of the room too. She was there alone, but he was coming. Sherlock was coming. Time seemed to creep by slowly, each moment felt like a lifetime to Annie. She'd begun to feel weak, her head hitting the floor at last. Something shifted in the dim light, and she turned towards it. It was Sherlock, he looked stunned and sick. He went to Annie's side and lifted her up, holding her head gently.

"Annie, I…" he faltered.

"You're going to have an emotion, I know." Annie smiled.

"Yes. I never meant for…"

"Sherlock. You have to find someone, you need someone to keep you sane. Find someone, Sherlock. And then find the guy who did this. Before he can do it to someone else."

"Annie…" Sherlock sighed.

Annie was so close to him she could see the tears in his eyes, she could feel his breath on her forehead. She lifted her hand and wiped away the tear on his face with her thumb.

"Sentiment, Sherlock?" Annie sighed.

He bowed his head, her hand still pressed to his cheek. Then her fingers slipped. And she was gone.

John was quiet for a long time, taking it all in. Sherlock, for something to do, picked up his violin and started playing, his back to the room. John watched him feeling confused by what he'd just heard.

"You cared about her?" he said quietly.

"She was the only one who would put up with me. Apart from my dearest brother, but even he had his limits." Sherlock replied.

"Did… you love her?" John asked.

Sherlock stopped playing, and looked back at John with a little frown that John took as a no.

"She was a friend. A friend who died because I was young and naïve." Sherlock said, returning his eyes to the window.

John felt for him. He knew somewhere deep inside, Sherlock felt more than he was letting on. He got up and nodded to himself, making plenty of noise to let Sherlock know he'd left the room. Sherlock paused his mournful little tune again, and looked down at the book on his desk. He pressed shaky fingers to the cover, and closed his eyes.

"Annie…" he sighed to himself.

John watched him from the crack between the door and the frame. Sherlock blinked a few times, his eyes glistening with emotion. A single tear slipped down his face, and he caught it roughly with the back of his hand, sniffing hard.

In that moment, John got it. He got why Sherlock was the way he was. Closed off, emotionless. Because he'd been hurt in the past, and Sherlock thought if he looked at things emotionlessly he would be able to deal with it better. John suddenly understood a lot more about Sherlock, all thanks to one young girl John had never, and would never, meet.


	2. Chapter 2

It was a frosty morning a few months later, and Sherlock and John were walking brusquely from the café they had just met a client at. Sherlock had made a scene and they'd left quickly, John apologizing profusely for the uproar. They were walking down the busy street at an easy pace, deciding to head for the tube rather than try to hail a cab in cold weather.

Sherlock was quiet and he easily cut through the crowd, his height giving him a slight advantage over the rest of the crowd. John was having a little more trouble, having to dodge and weave away from Sherlock several times.

"Bloody people on their bloody mobile phones. No consideration for other pedestrians." John huffed, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets.

He walked right into the back of someone and began to apologize before he realised it was Sherlock. He was just stood there, frozen in the middle of the street. John frowned and followed his line of vision. Sherlock began to walk again, quickening his pace, suddenly travelling with more purpose.

"Sherlock? Sherlock, where are you going?" John called after him.

Sherlock ignored him, following someone into a side alley. John had to run to catch up with him. The alley was grim, overflowing bins spilling their contents onto the grimy floor. Steam billowed out of vents from the café's and restaurants that lined the main street, all of them giving off the feint smell of cooking. Sherlock was stood at the entrance to the alley watching someone walk down it.

"Annie." he called, loudly.

The person he was following spun round, her curly dark hair whipping round her. She was wearing a shabby grey cardigan and shorts with slightly opaque black tights. She didn't seem very cold, but she was very shocked. Her mouth was open slightly, and her eyes were wide.

"Annie Christmas." Sherlock thundered, walking up the alleyway, his coat whipping around him.

John mouth the name, recognising it but unable to place it. Then it hit him like a punch to the gut, and a look of confusion spread over his face. The woman stood there, her fingers twitching by her sides, just like Sherlock's did when he was thinking. She fixed Sherlock with a sad little look.

"Sherlock…" she sighed, a slight whine to her voice.

Sherlock froze at the use of his name. He looked completely stunned by her presence. Her eyes began to brim with tears.

"You're dead." he said, a little breathlessly.

"Sherlock…" she sighed again.

They looked at each other for a long while, then she took a timid step forward. Sherlock didn't move as she took another one. She was stood right in front of him now, looking up into his eyes. Then she burst into tears and threw her arms around him. To John's surprise, Sherlock held her close, letting her sob into the lapel of his jacket before taking it off and wrapping it around her shaking body.

* * *

They managed to flag a taxi down and the three of them sat in the back in a slightly uncomfortable silence. John drummed on his knees the whole way, chancing looks at Sherlock all the way back to Baker Street, but Sherlock kept his eyes forward the whole way there. Annie kept dabbing her eyes with the hem of her cardigan, sat in between John and Sherlock.

Sherlock swept Annie up the stairs of 221B and sat her on the sofa in a flash. Then he disappeared into the kitchen to make coffee. John sat on the chair and smiled at her awkwardly.

"Do you have an ashtray?" she asked, casting an eye around the piles of books hopefully.

John frowned a little.

"Sorry, did I say something funny?" Annie asked giving John a confused look.

Sherlock entered the room, pressing a coffee into her hands.

"No. John and Mycroft have seemingly banded together to stop me from smoking. However I know that there's a packet in the base of the plant on top of the toilet. You forget John, I miss nothing." Sherlock replied quickly.

"Oh… wow. That was brave of you." Annie said, raising her eyebrows at John.

John gave a slow incline of his head with a grim little smile. For a moment the room was silent, Sherlock scowling like a petulant child.

"How are you still alive?" Sherlock sprang on her.

Annie sighed and took a sip of her coffee. John looked at Sherlock who was looking down at his old friend with a raised eyebrow.

"I had to disappear." Annie shrugged, keeping it simple.

Sherlock fixed her with a look and she looked away from him biting her lip. Sherlock sat down slowly, resting his elbows on his knees.

"It was for your own good. He was going to kill you, so I had to pretend to be dead. To save your life." she continued.

Sherlock rocked back in his chair, still looking at her wordlessly. Annie put her coffee down, untangled herself from Sherlock's coat and drew the cardigan around her. She gave Sherlock a look that could have melted ice then went to sweep out of the room. Sherlock grabbed her wrist and swung her round to face him.

"Who?" he said quietly.

Annie blinked a few times.

"You'd know him as Moriarty." she replied.

"Him again?" John growled, folding his arms and looking pensive.

"You, you met him… then how are YOU still alive, Sherlock? He said if he ever met you he'd kill you." Annie replied, her eyes wild.

"He tried to." Sherlock replied with a sigh.

Annie sat down on the sofa heavily her eyes wide. She looked exhausted, her eyes red and bloodshot.

"When I found the blog on the internet, I knew I had to find you. I followed you today. I don't think you quite needed to throw your tea cup at the wall." she said with a slightly amused smile.

"There's another café we'll never be welcome at again." John sighs.

Sherlock looked at him with a hint of a smile, and Annie smirked into her coffee.

* * *

Sherlock sat on the end of his bed his hands pressed together and the tips of his index fingers grazing his lower lip softly. His face was half hidden in shadow. Night had stolen into London and it carpeted Sherlock's room making deep shadows in the recesses of his room. He would have sooner died than admit it, but he was shaken by the sudden appearance of his old friend. What she'd told him had shed light on Moriarty, only a thin sliver, but it was enough for now.

There was a gentle knock at the door, to light to be John and too brusque to be Mrs Hudson. The door opened a crack and Annie peered round the door, a soft smile on her face.

"Sherlock, are you okay?" she asked.

"Said the dead woman." Sherlock replied coldly.

Annie looked at him reproachfully, her eyes betraying the hurt of the comment. Sherlock's face softened as he looked up at her.

"John said I could sleep on the sofa. It's not the most comfortable thing in the world. I miss the sofa at the old flat." Annie said, hovering in the door.

Sherlock inclined his head to his bed and Annie sat down nervously. He got up as she sat down, going to his chest of draws. He pulled out one of his shirts and threw it at her. Annie held it up and smiled at him.

"You're skinnier than I remember." she sighed.

Sherlock turned his back and cautiously Annie changed into the spare black shirt, buttoning it up quick as lightning. Annie's hand creeped onto Sherlock's shoulder, and turned him round. She hugged him, tears silently streaming down her face.

"I thought you'd hate me." she whispered.

Sherlock placed a hand on her back letting her cry onto the shoulder of his dressing gown.

"How could I hate you? You were protecting me. It's an honourable thing what you did, if a little stereotypical." Sherlock sighed.

"Sherlock, everything to you is stereotypical." Annie smiled.

Sherlock let her go and pulled his dressing gown off, sliding into bed. He looked at her expectantly, nodding at the empty side of the bed and Annie raised her eyebrows at him.

"Tongues will wag." she said, climbing into the bed next to him.

"Would you prefer the sofa?" Sherlock replied.

"No. Thank you."

"Goodnight, Annie." Sherlock said, rolling over and turning the light off.

Annie remained sitting up in the bed for a moment, then she slid down, pulling the duvet up to her chin.

"Goodnight, Sherlock." she whispered.

* * *

John yawned wildly, pouring himself a bowl of cornflakes as Mrs Hudson busied herself with making tea and a considerable amount of coffee. Annie wandered in her hair in a wild knot, Sherlock's shirt on show under his best dressing gown. Sherlock followed her a few seconds later, looking equally as tousled haired, but much more tired.

John frowned and looked at the sofa where the makeshift bed for Annie had been left untouched. His eyebrows almost disappeared into his hairline. He threw a look at Mrs Hudson who looked completely stunned and just shrugged at him in polite surprise.

"Sherlock." John said, inclining his head to the dining table as Mrs Hudson intercepted Annie at the fridge.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, and frowned as he followed John into the living room. John looked at him expectantly, awaiting some form of explanation.

"John, you're looking at me strangely. What is it?" Sherlock asked.

"You… and Annie, did you…?" John said, nervously cutting his sentence short.

"Are you deliberately trying to be cryptic?"

"You… slept together?"

"She slept, I pondered. She kicks in her sleep. I think I have bruises on my shins. Would it be strange to wear shin pads to bed?"

"Yes. Yes, that would be weird. So you just… she just… slept?"

"Well, what else did you expect her to do?"

"And the shirt? The dressing gown?"

"She's only known you five minutes, John. I highly doubt she would be comfortable walking around in her underwear. Especially with your wondering eyes. Don't think I haven't noticed that you find her attractive. Although I think she might be, how would you put it? Out of your league." Sherlock said, walking off to pick up his breakfast.

John stood there in shock, his mouth hanging open, just blinking rapidly.


	3. Chapter 3

Annie settled in quickly, locking into place like she'd never been away. The shock of her coming out of Sherlock's room every morning had lessened with time. But Sherlock looked more and more tired with each passing morning. Annie fussed over him more than Mrs Hudson did, making him coffee and keeping him in steady supply of cakes. John found her easy to get on with, but she was starting to get on his nerves a little.

She'd managed to annoy John twice already this morning, and that was even before the morning paper had arrived. Sherlock and Annie had a habit of sparking off each other to cure the boredom of not having a case to solve. This mornings boredom cure was to deconstruct several thriller movies, yelling at the screen. John walked through to the living room, his face like thunder and his eyes hooded in black.

John got annoyed at first, then angry as the two of them laughed behind their hands. Sherlock stated he was going to the shop and left with a laugh. Annie was silent for a while, then she turned off the television with a click. She fixed John with a look, her eyes completely cold. He glanced at her over his coffee mug, uneasy from her staring.

"You're turning into quite the complication, John Hamish Watson." she said icily.

John took a step back as she walked up to him, her face emotionless.

"You think you've taken my place with Sherlock. I can see why. Moved in together, solve crimes together. Took my place." Annie smiled grimly.

"You were dead." John replied, boldly.

"Yes, well I'm not now am I? And I'm not going to leave again. But you are."

John frowned deeply at her, barely able to believe her change of temperament. Annie walked round him slowly.

"I'd leave Doctor Watson. Before you life is cut prematurely short." she whispered into his ear.

John twisted to look at her, her eyes completely devoid of emotion.

"Moriarty sends his love, by the way." she said with a sly smile. John's face fell.

Sherlock burst back into the flat, practically bouncing. Annie shifted away from John and smiled warmly at him. John just gawped. How could Sherlock be so blind right now? He looked like a little boy, spouting about a case that had literally fallen on his doorstep in the form of a letter. He explained it at about thirty miles an hour then looked at John excitedly.

"Come on get dressed, John! We've got a murder to solve!" he beamed.

Annie's face fell slightly.

"Oh, no. I'm sure John would like a day off the investigating. Why don't I come with you, it'll be like the old days!" Annie replied cheerily.

Sherlock headed to the kitchen to study the letter further while Annie remained behind with John.

"You pack your bags and leave. I don't expect you to be here when we come back. If your own life doesn't give you the incentive to leave. What about his?" she whispered into John's ear.

John swallowed, hard.


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock and Annie arrived back at the flat in the evening to find the place darkened. Sherlock was quiet, quietly seething to himself.

"That was barely worth it. I don't leave the house for anything lower than a seven… and that was a four." he huffed as they ascended the stairs.

When they got up to the flat, there was a note on the kitchen table, hastily scribbled and addressed to Sherlock with a shaky hand. Annie read it over his shoulder, a smile playing on her lips. Sherlock's face darkened and he scooped his phone up, marching into his bedroom and slamming the door behind him.

He pressed the speed dial for John and paced as it rang. It rang twice then John picked up.

"Hello?" he snapped darkly.

"John, what is this nonsense? Where are you?"

"I'm on my way to my sisters."

"What? Why?"

"Ask your friend, ask Annie."

"What are you talking about?"

"She's working for him. For Moriarty. She threatened me. I had to leave or she would kill me… or you."

"What are you talking about? Annie would never-"

"She's planned this, Sherlock. She's out to get us and you can't see it."

"Enough! You're wrong!" Sherlock snapped, hanging up.

Annie poked her head round the door, her face arranged into a look of worry as Sherlock threw his phone down on the bed.

"You okay, Sherlock?" she asked, politely.

Sherlock didn't answer, he just glared at his phone. Annie frowned a little and she walked up to him, placing a hand round his wrist.

"You look pale, are you feeling alright?" she asked, frowning deeper.

"John's left for his sisters. He was spouting nonsense about…"

"About what?"

"You." Sherlock said, snapping his head to look up at her.

Sherlock studied her closely then took a step back, but her hand remained around his wrist like a vice.

"I should have known you still being alive was too good to be true, but I deigned my feelings. Emotion, it seems, has got the better of me." he said quietly, snatching his hand away from Annie viciously.

Her face darkened in a flash, and her lip became a thin line.

"How long have you worked for him?" Sherlock asked.

"About a year before my big disappearing act." Annie smiled.

"You betrayed me."

"Well what do you expect? The great Sherlock Holmes, never paying attention to the world around him. To the women around him. To me." Annie snapped.

Sherlock made for the door, but she slammed her hand onto it and shut it again. Sherlock heaved at the door and it flew open with a bang.

"Don't you take another step." Annie yelled.

Sherlock turned to look at her, his face impassive. In her hands was a gun, holding steady at his head.

"Pull it. Pull the trigger, and kill me." he said calmly.

Annie moved forward, raising her other hand to steady the gun. She looked at him coldly.

"I won't do a thing you say, so drop the gun. Or shoot me." Sherlock pressed.

Annie clicked the safety off the gun and moved forward. Sherlock stared into her eyes, deep into her eyes. He began to smile and Annie's arms began to shake, fighting emotion. Sherlock took a step forward and made a grab for the gun. At the last second, she swung past him and ran through the door. There was a thump and a grunt of pain. Annie backed into the lounge now, holding someone by the neck, covering their mouth with her hand. Sherlock darted forward and switched the lights on.

In Annie's vicelike grip was John, looking slightly stunned from a blatant pistol whip to the head. Annie growled as she looked for a way out and realised she was hemmed in. She pressed the gun to John's neck and glared at Sherlock wildly.

"You think this… this man could replace me? Do you care for him? You look at him differently, like you care. You never looked at me like that, not once." Annie yelled.

"You're insane." Sherlock said, his face twisted with anger.

"No. I'm in love, it's similar though, you said it yourself. Its amazing what love does to you. But you wouldn't know that. You never did and you probably never will." Annie spat.

Sherlock looked vaguely surprised at her carrying on. Then it hit him, he understood at last.

"Oh… you poor girl." he sighed, dropping his hands by his side.

He moved forward and Annie shifted her weight nervously. John looked panicked by Sherlock's advance. He took another step forward and reached out for Annie's wrist. John's eyes screamed no, and he tried to yell, but Annie shifted her arm crushing his windpipe.

"Let him go." Sherlock said calmly.

He grabbed her wrist and she let him pull her towards him, the gun pointing at his heart. She looked at him, wide-eyed as she shoved John away leaving him gasping for breath.

Then Sherlock did something John had never seen him do before. He bent down and kissed Annie passionately. In shock she loosened the grip on her gun and Sherlock prized it from her grip, pushing her away from him.

For a moment she stood there breathing heavily, her mouth slightly agape. Then she realised she was no longer armed. She narrowed her eyes and her hand opened Sherlock's desk draw lighting quick, and pulled his revolver out. She swung it to point at John and… BANG.

John opened his eyes slowly, they hurt a little from squeezing them so tightly. Annie blinked, and staggered, dropping the revolver. Blood spilled from the wound in her stomach. Sherlock looked at her blankly, the gun in his hand smoking. She dropped to her knees, her eyes brimming with tears. Before she could keel backwards, Sherlock caught her gently.

"Well, here we are again." she said with a little coughing laugh.

"It's not a situation I particularly wanted to find myself in again." Sherlock replied.

"I'm sorry. I just wanted… I wanted you."

"I know. I've always known, in a way."

"Moriarty. He's coming for you. Soon."

"I'll be ready."

"Please don't hate me," Annie sobbed, "Please, please don't hate me. I never meant for it to go this far. He said he'd kill you if I didn't get rid of Watson. Oh, God… I'm sorry John. Oh God!"

John looked at her, his face stony. He slowly walked towards her and took her by the hand.

"I know what it's like to be played by him." John replied, nodding.

"Don't… hate me… I love you, Sherlock." Annie choked.

"I could never hate you, Annie." Sherlock replied.

He looked down at her, his eyes slightly moist. He bent down and kissed Annie gently on the forehead. Then she was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock sat on the sofa, the smell of cleaning products assaulting his nostrils. He stared ahead blankly curling his top lip with displeasure at the scent. John walked through from the kitchen, holding out a cup of tea to Sherlock. Sherlock took it and sipped it as John sat beside him.

"For what it's worth. I'm sorry." John said quietly.

"Nothing to be sorry about. You didn't kill her." Sherlock said blandly.

"Sherlock…" John sighed, shaking his head.

Sherlock looked into his cup distantly. He lifted his chin, jutting it out as he ran his tongue along his teeth.

"She was deluded. Love is a tricky thing." he said, frowning.

"You cared for her, she knew that in the end." John shrugged.

"I don't know what I'd do without you and your ever so observant summaries of the situations we find ourselves in."

"I think that was a compliment. I'm going to take that as a compliment. Thanks."

"I did tell you, I only have one friend. Which reminds me, why did you come back?"

"I didn't go anywhere, I was sat in the café downstairs. I was waiting for your phone call as a sign that things were going to spark off," John paused looking at Sherlock, "Are you alright?"

"I'm always alright, you know me."

"Yeah. I know."

"Better than most."

"You think?"

"Why would you write a blog about me if you didn't know me?"

"Fair point. Hang on… a blog about you? It my blog."

"And when was the last time you wrote about yourself?"

"Shut up, Sherlock." John said, slightly snappily.

Sherlock smirked to himself and shook his head. They fall into a comfortable silence, drinking their tea. Sherlock frowns a little and looks at John out of the corner of his eye.

"What are you going to call this one?" he asks, genuinely intrigued.

John leans back on the sofa resting his head on the back of the sofa and looking up at the ceiling.

"Nope. This one's going to remain unpublished." he replies.

Sherlock looks at him for a second then mirrors him, looking up at the ceiling with a long sigh.

"Thank you, John." he said, quietly.

"Sherlock?" John says, frowning.

"Yes, John?" Sherlock replies.

"Why are there knives sticking out of the ceiling above the sofa?"

"It's an experiment." Sherlock smiles.

John grins and they both begin to laugh loudly.


End file.
